


fairy lights

by prouveyrac



Category: Sanders Sides, Thomas Sanders, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Crying, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, i wrote this as platonic but it could also be read as romantic, patton comes to the rescue, roman is stressed and tired, this was also very self indulgent bc i was in a mood tn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-15
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-23 02:13:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14322291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prouveyrac/pseuds/prouveyrac
Summary: With a frustrated huff, Roman’s head shot up to look at the now-unlit bulbs and put together what he thought would be his best glare possible in this time of difficulty. He had writing to do and dreams to make into reality; his room deciding to give out on him was the last thing he needed.He couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t stop writing and planning and making hopes real until the papers Roman wrote on and decided to keep outnumbered the crumpled up, discarded ones littering his floor.





	fairy lights

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: self deprecating thoughts, cursing, crying

The fairy lights in Roman’s room were flickering. They had been ever since Roman sat down at his desk, pen in hand, with his notebook open before him. Honestly, the inconsistent lighting only made for a fractured ambience and for the certainty of a headache to form behind Roman’s eyes.

The lights flickered again and, this time, the ones hanging up above Roman’s desk finally gave out, casting shadows down onto Roman’s notebook page.

With a frustrated huff, Roman’s head shot up to look at the now-unlit bulbs and put together what he thought would be his best glare possible in this time of ~~stress~~ ~~frustration~~ ~~disappointment~~ _difficulty_. He had writing to do and dreams to make into reality; his room deciding to give out on him was the last thing he needed.

He couldn’t stop now. He couldn’t stop writing and planning and making hopes real until the papers Roman wrote on and decided to keep outnumbered the crumpled up, discarded ones littering his floor.

But now though, as he squinted through the darkness of his room—his fairy lights always provided better lighting than the lights installed into his ceiling, which only gave off a hazy, orange glow—Roman realized that, once again, he was left with a notebook page that consisted mostly of crossed out words, scribbled over to the point of illegibility, and smudged ink from his hand being dragged across the page.

It was just one more page in many that held no ideas that could become tangible, that could become something meaningful; something that could make the others proud and maybe then they would see how he could be-

 _Stupid,_ his brain subbed in. _Worthless, a fraud, untalented, uncreative-_

With a frustrated shout that sounded too choked and watery, Roman violently tore the page from the notebook, watching as it tore up the binding. He crumpled the sheet of paper in his fist and flung it across the room. It landed dully on his carpet a couple feet away and rolled to join another pile of rejected, worthless ideas.

Roman then, in a fit of anger, shoved his notebook off the desk. As it clammored to the floor, Roman let his head drop into his hands. He pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, forcing back the burning behind his eyes (which, in turn, only worsened his growing headache).

He sucked in a sharp breath when he heard the tell-tale, quiet click of the fairy lights that strung along his ceiling going off. Even behind the darkness coming from pressing his hands to his eyes, Roman knew that his room was officially plunged into darkness. His fairy lights were his room’s main source of lighting; now, he could only hear the mundane buzz of the singular ceiling light.

Of course his room would do this to him; _of course_ , right when he needed his inspiration and for him to be fucking _creative_ , this had to happen and his hand was cramping and his mind swam with too many ideas that just wouldn’t let him put them down onto paper and-

“Shit,” Roman choked out, hating the waver in his voice and the tightening in his throat. Leave it to him to break because of this; leave it to him to falter at the one thing he was supposed to be good at because he wasn’t-

“ _Shit,_ ” he repeated, his voice catching and turning into something pathetic and croaking. He squeezed his eyes hard behind his hands and forced himself to take a deep, shaky breath. He had to compose himself before anyone-

“Hey, kiddo? Are you alright in there?”

He had to compose himself before anyone heard him.

(Of course, that plan was a bust now.)

He coughed to clear his throat and picked his head up. Turning his head, he realized he couldn’t even see his reflection in the mirror he had on the wall, though he assumed that he looked anything but prince-like.

“Yeah, padre, I’m good in here,” Roman said and cringed immediately. He could’ve had the lowest possible standards for his acting and he still would’ve had to admit that that was _bad_.

It seemed that Roman couldn’t even lie well today.

“Roman,” Patton said, his voice still sincere though Roman didn’t miss the parental tone behind it. “Don’t lie to me, kiddo. Please. You’ve been in there for a while, is everything alright?”

Roman couldn’t lie anymore.

Looking at all the crumpled up papers on his floor, knowing that this wasn’t the first time this happened and it most definitely wasn’t the last, he realized he didn’t _want_ to lie anymore.

“Not really,” Roman said with a weak laugh, hopefully loud enough for Patton to hear.

There was silence on the other side of his door and, for a moment, Roman began to believe that Patton walked away, that Roman had finally pushed Patton to his limit with his eccentricities and annoyances and-

“Roman, I’m coming in,” Patton said and, despite the warning, Roman still flinched when he heard the knob turn. He turned his back to the door, now suddenly regretting letting Patton in when his room—and he himself—was a mess.

The door opened behind him and Roman, forcing himself to stay facing forward, listened his best for what Patton was doing. There was a hesitation, as if Patton was staring into the room in wonder, before the door finally closed.

Patton walked across Roman’s room, his feet quiet and light on the carpet. He then came to stand next to Roman and, upon feeling Patton’s gaze on him, Roman tilted his head down.

“All your lights went out,” Patton said quietly, resting his hand on Roman’s upper back and gently rubbing the area.

Roman nodded, suddenly not trusting his voice to speak.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Roman hesitated before shrugging.

“Okay, that’s okay,” Patton said. His tone was gentle, his soft lilts drifting calmly through the darkness. “We don’t have to talk right now if you don’t want to.”

Roman swallowed at the words “right now”. Of course, those words meant that they would talk eventually, which Roman guessed he signed up for when he let Patton in, but that didn’t meant that he was thrilled with the idea. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust patton; it was quite the opposite, actually. He trusted Patton _so_ much, he just didn’t trust himself as to what he would say.

Roman held a lot back, a lot more than he should. He didn’t know what would happen if the floodgates of his mind finally broke and everything came pouring out.

“Roman, what are all these papers?” Patton asked. Roman sniffed.

“My ideas,” he finally managed out in a whisper. It was the one way he could trust his voice not to waver.

Patton was silent for a moment, causing Roman to finally look up at him. Patton, instead of staring back at Roman, was looking at the pile of crumpled papers closest to them.

“I’m pretty sure these are supposed to be in your notebook, Ro,” Patton said as he turned back to Roman. Patton was giving him a small smile and Roman couldn’t help but give back a watery, clipped laugh.

“They’re not good enough, Pat,” Roman forced out, ignoring how his voice cracked when he addressed his friend. It wasn’t what he wanted to say; he would’ve rather said anything else, anything to wipe the worry off of Patton’s face, but Roman didn’t have the energy in him to do anything else but say what was really going on.

Patton frowned down at him and Roman quickly looked away again, swallowing thickly. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Patton bend down to scoop up one of the paper balls. Roman didn’t even bother to stop him as Patton unfurled it, the crinkling of the paper filling the noise.

He didn’t think Patton was reading anything. Everything Roman wrote—save a few meaningless words—was scribbled out until no one, not even Roman, could see what used to be there.

“Oh, kiddo,” Patton said, his words quiet and his tone sad and Roman, to his absolute horror, couldn’t stop the tears that began their trek down his cheeks and the sudden sob that broke out of his lips. He was so _tired_ , he just wanted to sleep, but he had to many ideas running around in his head that he couldn’t get to work on paper and he _needed_ to make something that was good and would make the others proud and-

Roman bit his lip and finally turned to fully face his friend. He threw his arms around Patton’s waist and buried his face in his torso. He sucked in a breath that barely reached his lungs and he hated the fact that tears were currently soaking through Patton’s shirt and that Patton was seeing him like this but Roman was drained and _so tired_.

“Roman, hey, kiddo!” Patton said quickly, concern evident in his voice as one of his hands flew back to Roman’s upper back to rub comforting circles as the other went to his hair to gently card through it. “What’s the matter?”

Roman’s insides coiled at the broken sob that he let out and he wrinkled Patton’s shirt in his fist, pulling his friend closer to him.

“Hey, it’s okay, Ro, it’s okay,” Patton soothed. “Breathe, Roman. You’re alright, I got you.”

Roman shook his head, finally tearing himself away from Patton. The other retracted his hands and Roman furiously scrubbed at his face, his chest heaving. “I can’t,” Roman choked out. “Patton, I can’t do it.”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Patton said gently. He kneeled down before Roman, bringing them both eye-level. “I know you can, okay?” Roman shook his head and, still, Patton gave him a small smile and held his hands out to Roman.

Roman took no hesitation in grabbing Patton’s hands, worrying his bottom lip. His breathing hitched.

“You can do this, Ro,” Patton encouraged. “In for four, hold for seven, out for eight, right? Just like Virgil taught us.”

Roman managed to follow Patton through the breathing exercise, refusing to make eye contact until his chest finally wasn’t heaving and tears, while still coursing down his cheeks, weren’t followed by choked sobs.

“There you go,” Patton said, smiling at Roman and squeezing his hands. “I knew you could do it.” Roman nodded. “But what’s the matter, Roman? I can’t stand seeing you this upset.”

Roman took one final deep breath, averting his eyes before dragging them back to Patton’s face. “I’m so tired, Pat,” he finally said. “I’m so, _so_ tired, but- but I have all these ideas, Pat! Ideas that I’ve had for days and… and I need to get them all out but it’s just not working. I can’t write them out became nothing comes out how it’s supposed to be and everything is just making my head hurt and-” Roman forced himself to stop when his voice cracked again. He took a slow breath and continued, attempting to keep his voice as level as possible as he continued, “I have so much going on in my mind and nothing is working out anymore.”

Patton had been nodding the entire time, encouraging Roman to speak as he listened intently. Finally, when Roman came to his shaky conclusion and looked down, Patton sighed and rubbed circles with his thumbs on Roman’s hands. “Oh, Roman,” he said. “You’re worn out. You were in here all day writing, and you’ve been doing just as much the past couple days. You’ve tired yourself out.”

Roman shook his head. “I’m Creativity,” he said. “I can’t be worn out of creative ideas. I need to keep creating because it’s who I am! How are we going to let Thomas keep doing what he does if I can’t think of ideas? How am I going to prove my worth if-” He then snapped his mouth shut and looked back up to Patton, wide eyed.

Patton furrowed his eyebrows at Roman, his lips turned down in a frown. “Roman,” Patton said slowly. “Do you… do you think that you need to prove something to us to feel wanted?”

“Well, I-I- I’m Creativity,” Roman stammered, looking away once more. “I need to show that- that I should be here and- and taking a break isn’t-”

He cut himself off when Patton gently took one of his hands away from Roman’s and turned Roman’s face back towards him. “You don’t have to prove anything to us, Roman. We love you for you, not for what you can do,” Patton said quietly, his words only reaching Roman instead of filling the entire room. Roman swallowed thickly as he felt tears prickle in his eyes again. “You don’t need to be constantly producing content for us. You’re allowed to take breaks. You _need_ to take breaks.”

“But-”

“No ‘but’s,” Patton said, smiling. “Does Logan need to take breaks after brainstorming?”

“Yes, but he’s-”

“No different than you,” Patton continued for him. “You need to take breaks to stay healthy, Roman. It’s not good to wear yourself out like this. Wanna know why?” Roman nodded. “Because I’m sure all these ideas here are amazing. You’re just really tired and frustrated, so your mind really isn’t all that happy right now. You have to take rests between your daydreaming because you should never, _ever_ be this upset over your beautiful content.”

Roman nodded and swallowed around the lump in his throat. “Okay,” he whispered, smiling at Patton. “Thank you.”

“Of course, kiddo,” Patton said, squeezing the hand he was still holding. “I care for you so much, we all do. None of us ever want to see you so upset, especially not by yourself.”

“I know, I just,” Roman trailed off and sighed, trying to find the right words. Patton patiently waited. “I just never want to be a burden to all of you. I’m the dreamy, fantasy one. I’m supposed to be creating and creating happily and creating easily but… but sometimes it’s really hard, Patton.”

Patton nodded. “I know, sweetheart,” he said softly. Roman’s cheeks flushed at the sudden nickname change—the one only used for dire moments, for words that were only supposed to be shared between two people. “I know that this all can be very difficult on you. But that’s just more of a reason for you to take breaks when you need them. And that means talking to us when you want—and need— to. You can never be a burden on us, and you’re allowed to be whoever you are and feel what you feel. There’s never been a doubt about it.”

Roman gave Patton a watery smile. “Thanks, padre,” he repeated, his words soft.

“You don’t have to thank me, it’s what I do,” Patton assured. “Now, how about we get you out of this room? Logan and Virgil went to their own rooms, we can go down to the living room if you want.”

Roman nodded. “I would like that a lot, Pat,” he admitted.

Patton beamed. “Great!” he said. “Then I’m going to go to my room quickly and get comfortable and grab some pillows and blankets. You do the same, okay?”

“I’ll meet you down there,” Roman said. “Can we… maybe put on a movie?”

“Oh, of course!” Patton exclaimed. “You don’t even have to ask! You just come down when you’re ready, okay?”

Roman nodded and watched as Patton sunk out of his room. Then, with a sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair, kicking aside a crumpled up paper close to his foot. Without thinking too much about his room or the carnage left in it, he spun into an oversized red sweatshirt and black pajama bottoms (of course, complete with gold crowns covering them). He then scooped up his favorite pillow and throw blanket before quickly sinking down into the living room, wanting to be out of his drained room as soon as possible.

“Hey, kiddo,” Patton beamed from where he was crouched in front of the DVD player. He was in the cat hoodie that was usually around his shoulder and light blue bottoms with dogs printed all over them. Patton’s blankets and pillows (yes, multiple) were already thrown on the couch. “You get comfortable, I’m popping in _Cinderella_ right now. I know that one’s your favorite.”

Roman smiled, flopping down at one end of the couch. He crossed his legs under him as Patton slid in the DVD and started the movie. When Patton came over to the couch, he lied down on the other end of it, adjusting his pillow behind his head. He then looked to Roman with a grin and opened up his arms.

Without even waiting for the formal invite, Roman took his blanket and laid on Patton’s chest. Patton helped Roman adjust his blanket over him and then, naturally, Patton’s fingers found their place in Roman’s hair as he gently carded his fingers through it.

“Thanks again, Patton,” Roman said softly.

“Of course, Roman,” Patton said and Roman could hear the smile in his voice. “You know I’ll always be here for you.”

Roman would admit it: he didn’t last very long throughout the movie. With the sound of Patton’s steady heartbeat and the gentleness of how he played with Roman’s hair, any stress and frustration that was left over was washed away and quickly, calmly, _safely_ , Roman drifted off to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> so this fic is entirely self-indulgent bc i was in a Mood tonight and i couldn’t write any of the fics i’ve been meaning to write recently, so i decided to write out my feelings using roman and honestly??? super therapeutic tbh
> 
> ethospathoslogan.tumblr.com


End file.
